A Hard Rain
by Jacqueline King
Summary: A hard rain means something's a-comin'. Full summary inside.
1. The Mouth of a Graveyard

**Author's Ramble:** So begins my lengthy(ish) CM fanfic. And yes, it does involve the whole team despite the emphasis on Reid and Hotch. (Oh, and this is NOT meant to be slash. I guess take it however you want.)  
I decided to use Bob Dylan as my mode of inspiration for this one, mostly because I am in love with his early folk stuff and because Reid made mention of it when talking about his mother, and that just made me smitten to know he memorized Bob Dylan songs. Each chapter quotes a different Dylan song.  
I would love any and all feedback!  
Below is a fuller summary than the story description has space for.

**Full Summary:**  
An alternate take on the fifth season, shortly after the Reaper stabs Hotch. The team finds themselves facing foes they can't conquer as Reid's mental health deteriorates, and Hotch's life is forever changed when the Reaper finds his family. As friends, they will try to stay together, but sometimes a hard rain just has to fall.

* * *

"A hard rain means something's a-comin'..."

_"Oh, where have you been, my blue-eyed son?_  
_And where have you been my darling young one?_  
_I've stumbled on the side of twelve misty mountains_  
_I've walked and I've crawled on six crooked highways_  
_I've stepped in the middle of seven sad forests_  
_I've been out in front of a dozen dead oceans_  
_I've been ten thousand miles in the mouth of a graveyard..._  
_It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall."_

* * *

Tonight was supposed to be their movie night.

It had become a tradition shortly after Morgan found out that Reid had never seen any of the Bond movies and Reid found out Morgan had never seen the original Psycho. So started the infinite movie exchange. Occasionally one of the other members of the team joined in—sometimes the whole team, depending on the movie—but usually it was just Morgan and Reid. They'd pop a few bags of popcorn, get a pound of Swedish Fish and watch two or three movies in one sitting. It wasn't the most exciting thing to do on a Saturday night, but both profilers looked forward to it. It was a chance to feel normal, like they were good friends from a line of work that didn't involve hunting down America's most deranged and sick minds.

Tonight was supposed to be Jurassic Park (Morgan's pick) followed up by Willow (Reid's favorite movie growing up, apparently). It was a Saturday, and it took Morgan longer than he'd been expecting at the video store. He stood in line, waiting for a woman to get done arguing with the man behind the counter about getting a scratched disk.

"I want a refund, if not a free rental!"

"Ma'am, I distinctly remember cleaning that disk for you. I made sure it wasn't scratched. I'm sorry, but I can't—"

"This is ridiculous!"

"That's an understatement," Morgan muttered. Rolling his eyes, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his cell. He speed dialed Reid, tapping his foot impatiently as the woman continued to hold up the line now seven annoyed costumers strong.

"Hi,"—a nervous clearing of the throat that the one and only Dr. Reid might as well have copyrighted—"You've reached doc—you've reached Spencer Reid. Please leave your name, number and a brief message and I'll get back with you as soon as I can. Thanks."

Morgan snorted, causing the bleary eyed mother of three in front of him to turn with a glare. He gave her a white smile and closed up his phone. The kid must have been distracted.

God knew Reid had enough on his mind lately. Ever since they got back from Canada after the Turner case all hell and broken loose on the team. Hotch was stabbed repeatedly by the Reaper, Reid got himself shot—again—this time in the leg, and the whole team was hypersensitive to everything. Morgan knew everyone was worried about Hotch, not to mention Haley and Jack, but it created the most tense work environment Morgan had ever seen for the team. It didn't help that he'd taken over as lead profiler to give Hotch a break.

Reid was a lot like a kid caught up in a divorce. He was hurting, and everyone knew that, but they couldn't focus on that when every other minute the team thought JJ would come running into the bullpen with evidence that the Reaper had struck again.

Morgan was probably the only one who noticed Reid acting strangely these days. He was quieter; there were fewer tangents about statistics or literary references. But Morgan figured the genius just had a lot on his brain. Everyone did.

Morgan flipped open his phone again. He dialed one for Garcia. She was joining her boys tonight for the movie fest, promising to bring cookies for Reid and his still-injured knee. She apparently owed him.

"You boys must really miss me," Garcia answered breezily. Morgan unconsciously smiled.

"Oh, you know I can't go a day without hearing you, Baby Girl."

"I've got another batch to put in and I'll be over at Reid's."

"How many cookies are you making him?"

"Enough until he gets better."

"Garcia, he'll be on crutches for another three weeks. Then he's got a few months on a _cane." _

"Our little boy genius will plow through them. His sweet tooth is bigger than his brain."

"I've made him coffee, I know what you mean. Look, I'm caught up at the rental store. You'll probably beat me over there. If he's forgotten to unlock the front door again, the key's in the flowerpot under the window."

"Oh, is my cupcake caught up looking at the naughty section?"

"You know I don't need any of that, Garcia."

"That's right; you got me."

Morgan gave a short laugh that once again got the mother of three glaring at him. "I'll see you in fifteen minutes, Baby Girl."

"Bye my dove! I will come bearing delicious baked goods!"

Morgan clicked the phone off with a smile on his face.

It'd been a few weeks since he found himself smiling this much. He'd forgotten how much he enjoyed it. It wouldn't last for long, though.

* * *

The front door to Reid's townhouse was wide open.

That was enough for Morgan to wish he'd brought his gun. Of course, on the first night he'd felt safe enough to leave it at home something like this would happen.

His first thought was of the Reaper. He remembered waking up with that bullet sitting on his forehead. Morgan wasn't about to put it past Foyet to hunt down Hotch's friends and fellow profilers just to get to him.

Morgan acted on instinct. He dropped the bag of candy and movies, and crept quietly into the house. Nothing was wrong in the kitchen; it looked like Reid had stopped just before he began hand popping the kettle corn. There was a sweets tin covered in different colored versions of Marilyn Monroe sitting on the counter next to the bags, pots and bowls laying in wait. Nothing was out of order, just unfinished.

Morgan moved into the living room. Nothing amiss there either. The candy bowls were empty, ready to be filled. The piles of books and paperwork had been cleared slightly to allow for table space for the junk food feast that was supposed to be conducted that evening.

Morgan crept into the hallway that led to the bedroom and bathroom. He heard a strangled sob coming from the half-closed door of the bathroom. His heart skipped for a moment as he moved closer.

He kicked the door open, ready to find anything.

Well, anything than what he actually _did _find, that is.

* * *

Garcia had finished up her batch of monster cookies right on schedule. She knew both her little boy genius and her chocolate cupcake would have a field day going at them. They combined all the goodness that life could offer—chocolate chips, oatmeal, peanut butter, and M&M's. Basically, she had created happiness in a cookie.

She stuffed the three-dozen cookies into her favorite Andy Warhol tin and left her apartment. Kevin was out in Las Vegas for a software convention (which she was disappointed she didn't get invited to, but knew she couldn't afford to leave the team now). She needed some distraction from her very quiet apartment. Derek and Spencer were exactly the kind of distraction she had in mind.

Garcia pulled up to Reid's townhouse and parked on the street. She got to the door and peered in through the small glass window beside it. No sign of her smarty pants. With a grumble she hunched off the stoop and dug around in the flowerpot beneath the window. Leave it to Reid to get distracted right when he was expecting company. She pulled out the key, unlocked the door, and stepped inside.

"Hey Reid! Your bundle of joy has just arrived!"

The house remained silent. She moved in slowly now, the door behind her forgotten as her "mother hen" instincts began to kick in. "Reid?" The kitchen was clean, but it had been left in the middle of preparing popcorn. Warning signs flickered in her head.

Garcia set down the cookie tin on the counter, before walking around the kitchen table to peer into the living room. "Reid?" She moved down into the hallway that led to the bathroom, seeing at a glance Reid wasn't in there.

The bathroom door was half open, and Garcia thought she heard something strange come from inside. A gasp.

No. This couldn't be happening. Enough had happened to Reid. Held hostage multiple times. Kidnapped and tortured. Shot. Not the Reaper too. Not the Reaper.

Her stomach drop and her heart palpitated as all reason was tossed aside. She shoved herself into the cramped little bathroom.

The old door behind her creaked half closed again as she stood there, stunned. It took Garcia almost thirty seconds to register what she was seeing. When it finally hit her, it her hard. She felt the floor rush up to meet her knees and she realized she was holding back sobs.

"Reid?"

But the young man on the bathroom floor didn't answer.

* * *

"Morgan!" Garcia was hysterical, that was the first thing Morgan took note of. Later he would realize he compartmentalized the whole situation. He took things in one and a time, just as he was trained to do. Notice details so you can file them away and use them later. Penelope had gone to pieces, her make-up flowing. He didn't let his eyes focus on the lithe body she was cradling in her lap. She was the one who made the horrible sobbing noise that attracted his attention to the bathroom.

Everything seemed slowed down as Morgan took in the full affect of what he was seeing. The next thing he saw was the vial on the counter near the toilet, and the needle next to it. Leaning up against the wall behind the toilet were Reid's crutches.

The last thing Morgan looked at was the trembling, sweat-covered Reid that was being held protectively by the hysterical Garcia who kept alternating from crying Morgan's name to Reid's.

"Morgan, Morgan! He… Reid! He took the… Oh my God."

Morgan dropped down on the floor, and grabbed Reid's wrist. There was still a heartbeat, but his breath was coming in slow and hitched. He was all right, for now. He turned to Garcia.

"Baby Girl, Baby Girl," he had to yell to get Garcia to look at him. He grabbed her arms. "I need you to call 911, can you do that? I'm gonna make sure he keeps breathing. Okay? He's gonna be okay. All right, Baby Girl?"

Garcia swallowed her tears, gave a hiccup and a nod. She stood up slowly, letting Reid's head rest on the tile floor before she ran to the kitchen phone. Morgan leaned over Reid and tilted his head back; making sure his air way was open.

Inside, he was pounding his fists on the bathroom sink so hard the ceramic cracked. Outside, he furrowed his brows and held onto Reid's writs, keeping pulse.

"Pretty Boy, can you hear me? Reid, c'mon man talk to me."

Reid's lips moved soundlessly as he gasped and choked for each breath now.

"Stay with me, Spencer. Stay with me."

Garcia appeared in the doorway, and Morgan glanced over his shoulder. She was wiping away the trails of mascara that were running in rivets down her face. He turned back to Reid.

"Reid, you can't do this to us," he growled. "You can't do this to us, man."

Reid's lips moved again, and the faint croak was barely heard above the sound of an approaching ambulance.

"I can't… I can't…"

* * *

"How could this have happened?"

Hotch's voice was cutting as he surveyed his team. Emily sat with her head resting in her hands on one of the plastic waiting room chairs. JJ was pacing, ignoring the fact her hair was a mess as she continuously grabbed at it in nervous twitches as her hands tried to figure out what to do with themselves. Rossi was standing stiffly next to the coffee machine that gave out worst tasting brew than the stuff at small town cop shops. Morgan was holding Garcia's hand in the seat next to Emily, and unconsciously found himself rubbing the later gently on the back. Garcia was holding his hand too tightly. He didn't care. Having it there prevented him from punching a hole through the ER's wall.

"How could we not see he was using again?" Hotch asked the question they were all thinking: _How_? They cared about Reid. How could none of them notice the signs? How could the track marks, the moodiness go unnoticed?

But then, they had noticed. The only thing was, the whole team had been short-tempered, moody, anxious. They were all worried about Hotch. For once, they thought the danger wasn't going to fall onto the youngest profiler in the group.

"Does it matter, Aaron?" Rossi said shortly. "This isn't the time to berate ourselves."

They all knew Rossi was right, but each one of them had a sick feeling in their gut that they should have been able to prevent this.

JJ remembered seeing Reid fumble something in his pocket, looking around the bullpen nervously before slipping off into the bathroom.

Emily remembered glancing over at Reid's desk and seeing a small pink mark on his forearm as he rolled up his sleeves to dive into paperwork.

Rossi remembered quoting one of his own books, and Reid not even seeming to notice that he was referencing to one of the novels he'd memorized.

Garcia remembered Reid being short with her when she asked if he wanted her to delete the message he'd recorded for his mom all those months ago when he got the anthrax in Brown's lab. She remembered too conversations that she was supposed to keep secret.

Morgan remembered Reid's growing silence. The fewer appearance of remarks, quotes, statistics that would normally make you have a nose bleed.

And Hotch remembered… nothing.

His mind was so filled with anxieties, responsibilities, nightmares that he couldn't even remember the last conversation he had with one of his co-workers—one of his closest friends.

He was trying to keep his career, his team, and his broken family together and alive. Could he really have been that blind?

The guilt was hitting him like Morgan was hitting his mental wall. He rubbed his temples roughly with his thumbs.

"Finally," JJ snapped. Five heads shot up and turned to stare down the hallway JJ was looking at. The doctor was coming through the double doors with a neutral expression on his face. He was fast approaching the group that collectively stood up and took a step forward.

"How is he?" Hotch asked. He was always the voice of the team; in times of crisis, it was Hotch who came through. His tone was leveled, despite his angry monotone he'd used earlier.

"Dr. Reid's going to be all right. We had to flush the drugs from his system. He doesn't look too good right now, but he'll live. He overdosed on dilaudid."

"We know," Emily mumbled.

"Excuse me?" the doctor said with an edge. "You knew?"

"No, no," Emily back tracked quickly. "It's just that… he had a previous problem. That's all."

"I see… Well, that is important information."

"How so?" Rossi stepped in next.

"Well, if he had previous knowledge of the drug, it may mean his overdose was not accidental."

"Wait... are you telling me... Spence would try to _kill_ himself?" JJ's voice cracked at the end as she tried to keep herself composed. Garcia was at her side in a second and wrapped her bracelet-covered arms around her. She steered JJ away towards the women's restroom as the tears that the liaison had been fighting finally let go.

"Are you aware of Dr. Reid having any mental health problems in the past few months?" the doctor asked the remaining FBI agents before him.

"Look, he's a profiler for the Behavioral Analysis Unit in the Bureau," Morgan shot. "He's one of the strongest people you'd ever meet—"

"He's brilliant, there's no way—" Emily cut in.

"I wasn't questioning his—"

"Stop it, guys," Garcia said shortly. She had returned after ushering JJ into the bathroom. "He just asked a question." The technical analyst took a deep breath as she debated whether or not she should say this in front of her family.

Because they were her family, but sometimes families are blind to their biggest shortcomings.

She knew that her babies know Reid just as well as she does. They just wouldn't let themselves see how much he was slipping, because they needed him just as much as he needed them. But Garcia also knew that she was the first person Reid would talk to about the schizophrenic mom she'd met all those years ago. She was probably the only one who knew that he was worried about her health, and worried about his. That he was getting migraines. That he was starting to have strange dreams that didn't end when he woke up.

She took a deep breath, and told the doctor—and her family—about Reid and the voices.


	2. The Silent Night Will Shatter

**Author's Ramble:** Oh, I'm so horrible at updating. Fanfiction has become my reprieve from working on my original projects. And lemme tell you, I needed a break. Anyways, this is the long over-due second installment of this fic. I'm not sure how long I want it, but I think I'll be ready to finish it off in five or six chapters if I can. We'll see. Come what may. And once again, I apologize for my chronic inability to update in a timely fashion. Please help my motivation by reviewing. ;)

This wasn't beta'd and I have stayed up all night because I needed to write something... so I'd greatly appreciate if someone would like to tell me if I had any major goof-ups. :)

All quotes at the beginning of each section are from Bob Dylan songs. If you're unfamiliar, check him out. He's a beast.

* * *

_"And the silent night will shatter  
From the sounds inside my mind  
For I'm one too many mornings  
And a thousand miles behind."_

* * *

_Two Months Ago_

Penelope rushed in all her bejeweled finery through the glass doors of the BAU office space towards the elevators. A very tired looking Spencer Reid had just stepped out of the elevator, having returned from the quarantine hospital set up in Annapolis. The anthrax was still affecting his lungs, and as the blonde technical analyst smushed him into a death-grip hug he could feel a fit of coughs just itching to escape his throat.

"Easy there," Prentiss warned, but she was smiling. She and Morgan had stepped out of the elevator after the eidetic genius. Morgan had stayed with Reid throughout his hospital stay, and Prentiss had gone out to drive them back home that morning.

"Yeah, let him breathe," Morgan chuckled. "He's already having enough trouble as it is."

Garcia's grip lessened as she stepped back, holding the skinny doctor at arms length. He cleared his throat, pushed his hair from his eyes, and smiled down at her nervously. Garcia's silence was scary when she was staring at you with her eyes that peered right into your soul.

"Don't you ever do something like that again," she finally snapped and gave his arm a hard smack.

"Ow," Reid yelped. "Y'know, you guys really aren't very supportive sometimes. Morgan stole my jell-o and now you're blaming me for—"

"Save it Pretty Boy," Morgan interrupted as he turned to open the glass doors. "There's no getting around an angry Garcia."

"I'm not angry," Garcia pouted. "I'm worried about my kittens. I want them all coming home safe, and I scold them for not doing so in a timely fashion."

Morgan just smiled as he went through the doors, followed by Prentiss. Reid was staring awkwardly at his feet, and Garcia watched him with kind, waiting eyes.

"You ready to be back yet, sweets?"

She said it in that voice—the loving Garcia voice that each member of the team was used to hearing over the phone during a bad case or even just a bad day. It made Reid tense even more.

"I don't know," he admitted and let out a breath he seemed to be holding in. "I…"

The words couldn't come; the doctor's eyes were flickering around nervously as a group of interns walked by, staring intently at the BAU office.

"Here, come with me," Garcia said, grabbing at the profiler's thin wrist and steering him towards her personal Bat Cave. She sat Reid down in a chair and handed him a piece of candy before sitting down at her swivel chair in front of the half-dozen monitors all currently displaying the FBI emblem. Reid put the hard candy in his mouth slowly, and Garcia sat back and waited.

The muscles in Reid's face began to loosen, and his arms relaxed to rest against the armrest. As his spine finally leaned back into the chair, Penelope made her move.

"How are you?"

Reid swallowed the candy. His eyes wouldn't meet Garcia's.

"I've been better."

"Uh-huh… I could of told you that, and honey, I'm no profiler."

Reid gave an uneasy laugh and pushed his hair out of his face. "It's just… I started having these dreams again… when they took me to the hospital. I haven't had them for years. Not since I joined the team."

A ring glittered hand clasped over Reid's. He flinched slightly but forced himself to look amused. "Hey," she said quietly. "The monsters can be caught. You've proven that."

"Yeah," Reid swallowed nervously, twitching a smile onto his face. "You're right…"

* * *

Garcia wondered if she should have done more then. That first day back from the Brown case. Instead she let Reid sit in silence for the next two weeks. She didn't want to push him. But she noticed, and if she noticed, she figured the others noticed. But maybe they weren't look as hard as she was. Penelope saw him taking more calls during the office hours, coming in late and leaving early. He was pouring _bags _of sugar in his coffee to stay awake.

Two weeks or so after Reid had recovered from the anthrax and the team's steady build-up of paper work was finally beginning to thin, Garcia decided upon shanghai.

Reid was about to speed away out of the bullpen as had become his habit at the end of the day. Blocking his way was a grinning Garcia, swinging an old key ring around her finger. "Mr. Smarty-pants, me and Esther need some TLC this evening."

"Garcia I don't think—"

"Exactly! Don't think! Just _do. _And do as I do."

"The last time we tried to have a night out we ended up using your scarf as a tourniquet."

Garcia's Great Wall of Fun cracked. Enter Stubborn Garcia. "Now that's just morbid to associate my presence outside of the work place with suicide attempts. How did you even remember that? That was _years _ago—actually don't answer that. Anywho. You're coming with me, Mister."

Physically dragging Doctor Reid really wasn't a feat at all. Especially when he's somewhat compliant. Garcia was almost certain he was made of the papers he's read and written, keeping him at a decent one hundred and fifty pounds. As they were walking (being pulled) out to the parking lot Morgan followed after them with a grin on his face.

"Baby girl, you better not be replacing me!" he called with a wink. Reid sighed.

"Not even this pouting puppy can compete with my panther," Garcia yelled two parking lanes over. Reid caught sight of Strauss walking out of the building. Her eyes flicked over like a hawk on the hunt, saw it was Garcia, and then rolled. Reid chose not to tell Garcia of this (she was nervous around Strauss enough).

"Pouting Puppy?"

"Yep! You have been jumpy, and keep getting into the sugar. You're like a twitchy little puppy. I shall call you Toto. Now get in!"

"Garcia, really, I don't think I'm the best company tonight."

"_Get in the car, Toto."_

"Okay!"

As Garcia sped out of the FBI parking lot, heading towards one of her favorite bars in Garrisonville, she let Esther's top down. She let her hair fly loose from her pig tails, the blond strands whipping back and forth as she cranked the speed limit. The doctor was sitting stiffly, squinting his eyes towards the sunset as Virginia's forests sped by. The Academy was nestled gently between the trees, the training areas incorporating the environment as it encroached on all sides. It crept in, keeping the whole area feel like a secret organization, erected in the ruins of an ancient occult. Garcia had always equated it to visiting Professor Xavier's Institute for Higher Learning.

As they broke from the denser part of the forest on the Interstate, Reid cleared his throat and said loudly:

"Can I tell you something?"

Course you can silly!" And so her diabolical plans of shanghai worked; get him alone, and he always started talking. Garcia knew that with tried and true experience with her Doctor Reid.

"I think I'm having flashbacks."

Garcia's hands jolted slightly on the steering wheel. Esther hugged the shoulder for half-a-second and then smoothed back into her easing down the highway.

"Of… what?"

"Tobias. Owen. Riley Jenkins. Adam and Amanda. Frank and what he did to Gideon."

"Honey, you know that none of that was your fault—"

"No, no it's not. I know that. But that doesn't stop the dreams… the flashes of their faces, of their voices…"

There was a beat, and then Penelope said, "Have you talked to Hotch about this?"

"Hotch? No… I know what he'll tell me. He's talked to me before, when I was starting out. Him and Gideon."

"You miss Gideon." It wasn't a question; it didn't need to be.

"Garcia… sometimes I wonder if… Gideon couldn't handle all of this, how can I?"

Penelope took her eyes off the road. The friends met eyes, both sad, both searching.

"Spencer, you have to let some of what we do affect you. If you don't then you sacrifice some of yourself. Gideon… Gideon had to sacrifice a lot of himself to do this as long as he did. He saw all those agents die in Boston. He saw what was happening to Elle. And then Frank…"

"He carried all of that."

"We all do."

"… I remember every word, Penelope. Every cry for help, every last word. And all I can hear are their voices."

Garcia couldn't think of anything to say. So she didn't add to the voices swimming in both of their minds.

The black woods sped by in mute understanding.

* * *

"The next day we were called into the Turner case," Garcia finished.

The team was seated in the orange plastic chairs of the ER waiting area. Reid hadn't been moved to his overnight bed yet, and the doctor recommended at least over night observation, if not for a few days.

Everyone sat in silence for a moment as the hypnotic rhythm of monitors beeped throughout the ward. JJ was sitting on the floor—she had returned, her hair still a mess and her eyes still very red, to hear Garcia's recount of her last few close interactions with Reid.

Morgan was staring at the ground, appearing to chew on the inside of his cheek. Rossi kept drinking the burnt coffee. Prentiss simply gazed up at the lights, letting them blind her.

Hotch stood erect nearest to the hall that the doctor had vanished down to get Reid situated for transfer. He was the first to break the silence.

"We have to keep focus."

There was an audible note of extreme exhaustion from the man all in the room had come to know as their leader and their friend. But it was only his voice that betrayed him. He stood still, staring straight ahead.

"This is going to bring a lot of repercussions. There's no way we can hid this from scrutiny, and Internal Affairs will investigate the whole team. But we must remember our place is to do our job."

"Strauss can't possibly try to… to blame us for this… can she?" Emily's broken words came from the ceiling. It seemed her voice was stuck up there somewhere among the ceiling tiles and fluorescent bulbs.

"I can't imagine her wanting to blame us. But IA will want to, and Erin likes things clean," Hotch contended. "But if we just keep doing our job, they can't reprimand us for our lack of dedication and merit in the field."

"But what about Spence?" JJ's voice was a wild animal trapped and willing to bite and claw itself free. "What's going to happen to him?"

"I don't know."

The double doors at the end of the hall swung open. Six heads swiveled around at the noise. The doctor beckoned them forward with a hand. Mechanically, the group stood and started down the hall. Rossi tossed his full glass of coffee in the wastebasket, glad to be rid of the horrible taste. Not that the situation left a better one in his mouth.

Down the sterile hall and through the metal doors, they were led to a series of more private rooms meant for overnight patients. At the end of a long stretch of windowed rooms showing breathing apparatuses and sad sleeping figures, the ER doctor stopped in front of a room containing a very familiar figure.

"He won't be awake for long if he does wake up," the doctor advised. "And he'll be confused. I wouldn't have too many people near him at once. The nurse is just down on the left in the reception area if you need anything. I'll be back to check on him soon."

"Thank you," Hotch said and shook the man's hand. The doctor just nodded and went on. More people to save. Hotch suspected their lives weren't too different.

The six agents crammed themselves into the tiny room; all mesmerized by the steady breathing of the young man they thought they knew.

He was resting as if the whole scene had been staged, with his arms outside from under the polyester covers. His face looked bruised, but not as bad as his left arm, which had turned a violent shade of deep purple. His eyelids were dark too, accented by the rings around his eyes that went to show just how sunken his face had become in the past few weeks. Amid the dark sunken face were tubes going down his nose and throat, helping to pump his system and make sure he stayed breathing. More tubes tuck out of the discolored arm, dribbling in fluid from a nearby IV. His mass of curly brown hair was sticking to his forehead as a life-saving fever raged through his body, purging itself of the poison within. Nervous fingers twitched and flicked with the intensity of the heat and energy from a body rapidly on the mend from a brief glimpse of mortality.

But the man—although his dishwater hair, tired eyes and nervous hands were the same—could not possibly have been their Spencer Reid. Because their Reid would never do this, not to himself and not to them. Not to his unstable mother who believed her one preordained act was to bring life to this son. Not even to his estranged father who silently watched as he earned PhD after PhD, remembering him by newspaper clippings.

The sight was so wrong, and so preventable. None of them spoke.

Then, JJ did something unexpected. She walked forward, sat down on the edge of Reid's bed and took his hand. There was an unspoken rule almost, not to touch him. It was as if he would break under their touch, that is, if he weren't already broken. Reid's eyelids flickered open and he blinked quickly at the number of people in the room until he was able to focus in JJ's face.

His eyes seemed to relax as she gave a gentle squeeze to his hand. She smiled, and leaned down to say loudly, "When you get out of here, I swear to God I'm gonna kick your ass to kingdom-come."

There was a split second, and then Garcia was laughing—huge, horrible, hysterical heaves of laughter. Emily was the next to go with a sputter and a snort, her whole body shaking with repressed giggles. JJ gave an enormous "Ha!" and then just started crying and laughing, unable to distinguish the difference. Morgan was shocked at first, but then began chuckling, his broad shoulders doubling with the effort from going hysterical like the rest. Rossi shook his head, and looked at Hotch. They both stared for a moment, and then broke into smiles—smiles so broad and slightly crazed that if they had seen another man grin it, they'd have called him a sociopath.

Reid's eyes spun around the room, taking in the sight of every single one of his team members laughing uncontrollably. There was an odd spluttering noise from the tubes, and his mouth twitched a little wider.

He laughed as much as he could with the rest of the fools.


End file.
